


Melanie Doesn't Watch

by skeletonprowler



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate MAG120, Has the rest of the assistants but theyre just there, my version of Good For Her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonprowler/pseuds/skeletonprowler
Summary: There’s a difference between getting what you want and getting what you deserve.Melanie manages both.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Melanie Doesn't Watch

**Author's Note:**

> I’m too stressed abt finals to post the next chapter of the Overseer so here’s smthn I was thinking of when I was rewriting MAG125.
> 
> my brain was like “melanie should have killed elias” and I was like “yeah she deserved it” and my brain nodded sagely and said “melanie as character foil to elias” and I said “what in the goddamn hell are you talking about”

I know what it feels like to have your power stripped from you.

In another reality, Elias would have said that to her upon his return from prison.

He would have sat in that stupidly big chair behind that stupidly large desk and he would have smirked at her over his steepled hands. He would have seen her, shaking and powerless, in front of him, and he would have said

We aren’t so different, you and I.

In this reality, Melanie doesn’t give Martin the chance at peace.

Melanie stands over the smug bastard’s body. Drip, drip goes the knife. The blood has ruined his suit.

She laughs, shakily. She’s still standing. She’d done it. He’d been lying.

Quite, says a voice from behind her. His voice. She whirls around and her knife flings a bright red arc across his walls.

There is, of course, no one behind her.

She doesn’t want to turn back to the body. She’s not an idiot. She knows that something has changed, and it won’t be anything good. She turns nonetheless.

She half expects him to have stood up and shoved his eyes right to hers, but he is still on the ground. She’s right about the eyes, though. They are open, and his mouth is open too. He speaks without moving.

It looks like I was wrong.

A giggle boils under her sternum and works its way up her throat.

You haven’t died, and this one has. So…

The eyes, concealed until now, open on all surfaces of the room. Melanie’s knife is her own, though. She clutches its sightless handle and tenses, estimates how long it would take to pop every single eye in there.

No need for that, he says. You will only be hurting yourself. After all…

He pauses, probably for dramatic effect.

This is your office now.

Melanie can, unfortunately, still hear him through her hysterical laughter.

The ceiling crumbles away to be replaced with a single staring eye, and Melanie is laughing and kicking at the ragdoll flesh of her predecessor and she now knows that Jon likes sugar in his tea and she screams herself hoarse. No one comes to her office and she knows that the Eye is granting her this tantrum. The thought sends her screaming again and sets her upon the body.

When Melanie regains her – its – her mind again, the mass of flesh in front of her looks as though it was never put together at all. Her knife is buried in one of the half dozen eyes popped eyes around her leaking cloudy pus.

She kicks at the meat one more time and goes to get the least squeamish janitor.

Jon runs the second he sees the blood on her hands. She just laughs after him. The others stay but she can see the worry circling their minds. They can’t decide whether she’s better than her predecessor.

Melanie knows. She’s done the world a service, she’s rid the world of that particular evil. Whether or not she’s better than he was is irrelevant. What matters is she’s different.

And she knows all the ways she is different. She can see every action that motherfucker ever took, can see it catalogued in the walls. She understands how he had let the knowledge replace his emotions, replace himself – that sends her pacing the hallways again, knife in hand. She doesn’t want to understand a single thing about him. She isn’t better or worse; they are simply opposites.

He was right about one thing, and she drags the knifepoint down the length of a wall, peeling the wallpaper. She knows everything so thoroughly that the only escape would be suicide.

And there’s the catch. Melanie doesn’t want to die. Can’t die, not until she gets her revenge. Of course, if someone had asked her to describe revenge, she would have described what she had just done. But that hadn’t been enough – she is still so angry. It still burns her veins.

If she’s still angry, then there must be a reason. There is still vengeance to be had.

Her entire life has been buffeted by the judgments of others. No longer will she be denied scholarships or positions or even a seat on the goddamn metro because of her hair or her clothing or her skin. Now Melanie can stare back and there’s substance behind her anger. She stares back and does not blink and they wilt at the violence in her eyes.

So the green of the institute is washed away by crimson. Melanie knifes the Eye bloodshot and gives the office to some guy and pushes the paperwork onto him. She couldn’t care less about the institute. It’s not him that mutates the place, though. The change is gradual but within the month the insignia, the paintings, even the damn carpets are all red. It matches the gash below her nose.

Melanie stalks the halls and people move out of the way. They still work here; a combination of fear, blackmail, and having nowhere else to go keeps them in the building. Melanie forces them to sign an updated contract just in case.

It’s redundant, really - it’s not like they could leave. The institute is surrounded by created enemies and Melanie laughs and slices at any intruding arms. The building, once ivory, has taken on the feel of an army camp, and Melanie sends out troops armed with the information on how to kill whatever irritates her the most.

Jon comes back. Of course he does, Melanie had known exactly when he would step foot into the building, looking around in horror at the changes. She greets him by hurling a paperweight at his head. She allows herself this one act of violence towards the Archivist. He dodges it and she barks a laugh. Never that easy.

“Stay out of my way,” she snarls again, and takes out her anger on a piece of meat that has followed the Archivist in through the front door.

She simply doesn’t care enough to try to find another Archivist, one that she isn’t in danger of strangling on sight. The institute needs one. So she just lets him do whatever so long as he doesn’t cross her path.

The remaining two assistants are crowded around the coffin when Melanie joins them.

“Hello, Basira,” she says, and Basira nods warily and steps away. Martin just fades slightly.

Jon swings open the coffin door and drags himself out. Inside, Daisy struggles up the stone steps towards the light. Towards being human again. Daisy reaches out an emaciated hand for help, and Melanie slots a gun into it.

And Melanie sends forth more soldiers armed with the knowledge to kill, herself at the forefront. Fear flanks her on all sides. In a way, she gets what she wanted. The Eye is finally known for its cruelty. Only the cruelty is by her hands.

Melanie King, heart of the institute, runs into purposeless battle with a crown of bloodshot eyes on her brow. She screams bloody vengeance at the world that has robbed her so many times.

It lasts longer than it should.

**Author's Note:**

> aight go read my other fic its a lot more cohesive lol


End file.
